Fade Away
by whitereflections12
Summary: Dustfinger is feeling particularly despondent, facing down the fact that he truly may never go home. He takes some comfort from the only friend he has in this world, even if he should've known that it wouldn't exactly make him feel much better. movieverse


Ok so…yeah, again, lately it seems best if I just come out and say things. Typically with numbers, for some reason, XD

1. I have, probably literally, about 5 million other things to finish. Yes, I know. I've also had a hell of a time writing these past few months for reasons I can't pin down. I believe it's some version of writer's block that has not previously visited me, because it feels different…and all I have to say to 'it' on that subject is 'fuck you very much'…but that's beside the point. Anyway, I keep trying different things to shake it off, and I think(*knocks on wood*) this might be it. SO right after this, God willing, I'll get back on track.

2. The reason that I think this might 'cure' me is that I had this idea while watching the movie tonight, and that hasn't happened to me in ages, which for me is like saying I have breathed in months, because I have fanfic ideas at all hours of the day, normally. So…yeah.

3. I desperately want to read Inkheart, I do…but I have not. Not even the first one. Not even the first _sentence_. So this is movieverse. I cannot stress that enough…MOVIEVERSE. Please don't yell at me because I do someone or something 'wrong'…I know ONLY what the movie gives you. That's all I've got to go on, and the only way I know these characters. I mean, I totally realize how fucked movies can be sometimes, and I really do want to read the books because I'm sure they're way better because books nearly always are…but I do adore the movie and I've watched it a bunch so…this is how I know them, for now. And for what I don't know, I will probably totally make shit up, because I don't really want to blend movie and google searched facts about the bookverse, both because I want to read and find out AND because I don't think movie and book verses should ever really blend…they're nearly always far too different.

_No matter where I go,_

_No matter what I do_

_I'm alone_

_-Fade Away, Steve Carlson_

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The fire shifted, logs crackling as they slipped, and in the chair by the kitchen fire, Dustfinger jerked awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep here, but lately, it seemed he grabbed snatches of rest whenever the opportunity presented itself. Two weeks ago would have been his youngest daughter's birthday, and after a long spell of trailing behind Mo he'd wandered back into Capricorn's fold. He'd come on the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe in the time he'd been gone they'd found another Silvertongue. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could go home in one piece. Of course, it hadn't held true, but he hadn't yet left. He should've been used to it, after so many years, but somehow…somehow disappointment could still touch him. It dragged at him, hauling him under with its weight. He'd felt it time and again but somehow this time, it seemed that much worse.

He felt old, worn too thin, and he could feel a sinking realization seeming to settle into a hard lump somewhere in the back of his throat, unable to be unseated. It was long since time he faced facts. He was never, ever going home. He'd be stuck here forever, cursed to remain without his wife and children in this godawful place where he couldn't even properly command his beloved fire. If he'd been asked, before, if he believed in an afterlife, he'd have been uncertain. These days, he was starting to wonder if people weren't right about hell, and if maybe he was already in it.

He sat up slowly, scrubbing at his face with his hands as the last vestiges of his dream sifted away. He'd been holding one of his little girls, listening to her laughter as she balanced on his knee, peering over the edge of the wooden kitchen table at home, watching his hands as he brandished a flaming daisy cupped in his palms. He was murmuring in her ear, words that seemed nonsensical in the dream but that he remembered speaking. He'd told her that someday, someday they'd see if she'd inherited his gift. It was likely more pride than anything else, but something in him believed she had. She'd be older now, probably already using it, and for a moment he allowed himself the indulgence of thinking of her grown, fire playing between her fingers as she stood before a well awed crowd.

God, it was madness to even think of it. He couldn't allow it, not for a moment. Not if he wanted to keep going. He reached over, patting down his side in search of Gwin, feeling nothing and turning instead toward the sudden rattle of a chain. It was a soft clink, the lightest shuffle meant only to draw his eye. Resa was there, leaning against the kitchen table, arms folded across her chest and a soft smile on her face. Before he could speak she jerked her chin toward the counter beside the stove, and his eyes flickered across before settling on his little Gwin, curled up on a tea towel discarded inside a sauce pan.

Ah. So, the little rascal had opted for another bed. Well, he couldn't exactly blame him. Body heat and comfort of familiarity aside, he had to make a very annoying bed considering his current sleeping habits. He smiled, rolling his shoulders to partially relieve the kink in his neck as he stood from the chair.

"And just what are you doing up at this hour?" It had to be 3, easily.

She motioned toward the oven, then took a step closer to it, the chain on her ankle dragging across the stone floor. She hauled the door down, quietly as she could, and it gave him a peek at the bread baking inside. Then, at least it made sense. While he wouldn't have put it past Capricorn to have her up in the kitchen all night for no clear reason, it was apparent from this, at least, that he'd decided he wanted fresh bread when he got up, the bastard. No consideration at all for _who_ was making it, never mind the hours required or the fact that'd probably decide he didn't want it after all tomorrow.

She'd probably already been working hours and…

_Hours_. He stiffened just a little, looking away under the guise of looking back at the(now closed) oven. "How long have you…?" He couldn't ask, not outright, but the shrug gave him all he needed to know. She was trying for non committal, but he could see it in her eyes. She'd been there watching him sleep, and she'd have seen how it wasn't exactly restful. Well…on the bright side, she couldn't exactly question him.

Not directly anyway, but when he looked back her eyes were still boring into them, concern and something else and he sighed, hands rubbing absently together as he crossed the space between them. "Things have been…difficult lately." If anyone he knew in this world could understand that, God knows she should be able to. He still had no earthly idea exactly what kind of a life she'd been pulled from, but she'd been pulled from _something_. She'd come from the same world, and she'd left her family behind, that much he knew. It wasn't right, not for either of them. "I just…Resa, I just…" The words stuck in his throat, so often repeated though the edges never dulled. They seemed, instead, to grow sharper with use. He stopped just in front of her, rubbed a hand over his own tired eyes. "If I could just see them again, once more, I tell myself I could bear it, but I-"

She stopped him, catching his hand in both of hers and squeezing gently. She knew. She understood. Her eyes were boring into him, _too_ much sympathy, and….and her hands were freezing. He looked away, looked down instead and brought his left hand up to catch her right, pulling both of her hands together between his own.

"Hands are like ice." He murmured the words under his breath as he cupped his hands a little tighter around hers. Hers were small, a perfect fit, and he stroked his thumbs over the backs of them as he called on the fire within him just enough to radiate heat, low red orange light smoldering from his palms. Her pale skin under the pads of his thumbs felt rough, worn and cracking from too much consistent kitchen use in the bitter cold winter weather. The way Capricorn treated his servants, it was a wonder they didn't all catch their death of cold.

He was intent on his work, trying to warm her hands just gently enough without too much heat, and he startled just a little when she pulled one away, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back from his eyes. The question was there in hers, a more plain _Are you alright?_ than she could've ever put to words, and he swallowed hard, nodding before he ruined everything and actually answered her.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm…" Losing it? No, that wouldn't do. He licked his lips, flexed his fingers and felt the warmth in them fade with his lessened concentration. "I'm tired. I'm just so very tired. It's everything, this place, this world, Capricorn, that damned Silvertongue…" Her fingers traced against his cheek, coaxing the words out, drawing his gaze back to her own. "It seems I'm finally realizing that I'm…I'm never going home. And I thought once I knew I could come to terms with it but I-"

She was shaking her head, something in her look that reminded him of the spark that started an ember, and she tugged her left hand away from his as well. She took two good holds on his jacket instead, shaking him just a little without any real force. Resa, she believed. She'd made that clear before, scribbled on scraps of paper her faith that they would make it, demonstrated over and over as she tried to leave her belief that one day, she'd make it clear. Whatever else she didn't have, hope was something Resa had in abundance. Which was just as well, because _someone_ needed to have it. He certainly wasn't up to shouldering it, not any longer.

She didn't let him go, her grip still tight and too close, staring him down with a look he recognized. It wasn't anger or sympathy though both shared space in it, and though there were a million things he might've said, it was only her name that slipped from his lips, whisper soft and enough to make her eyes widen, irises shrinking. They were hardly a breath apart, and he could feel hers stop, catching somewhere in the space between.

They'd been here, before. Once, bandaging his hands, she'd pressed a kiss to his wrist when she'd thought him asleep, only to look up and find him watching her. He'd kissed her once, lonely and fresh off the road. She'd held him close, only to pull away a moment later with something on her face that could have been fear but on reconsideration looked a lot more like guilt. He should know the look, been able to recognize it immediately. Later that night, he'd had to have been wearing it plenty himself.

In his life before he'd stolen, swindled, lied. He'd killed. But of all the things he _had_ done, he'd known the one he never would. Roxanne was his world, his life and his light and he'd have rather burned the world than ever betray her. But now…well, it didn't exactly seem fair to say things were different now, even though they were. He was alone, lost and cold and farther from home than he ever could have imagined. Here, among strangers, he kept even more to himself. Resa, she gave him hope, and other than Capricorn(who could not be counted) she was the only appreciable human contact he had. Just then, with the world spiraling sharply down all around him, a point of contact was one thing he desperately needed.

The decision was less of an actual decision and more of a split second reaction. He was watching her eyes widen, feeling the almost too slight to notice tug of her fingers tightening on his jacket, and then he was kissing her. He cupped her face in his hands, either to hold here there or to hold his own hands steady he wasn't sure, but after his lips brushed hers he pressed forward with more certainty. Her lips moved under his, hesitant but noticeable, and he flexed his hand gently, a reassuring pressure. This was alright, because it had to be. Right now, at least.

He'd heard, before, that at times like this, the guilt usually didn't come. He wasn't sure if he was different or if they were lying, but he could already feel it, stirring and pricking at him, but he breathed her name against her cheek, her breath stuttering soft against his lips, and he pushed it away. As a person, it probably meant he was worse, but just then, he couldn't care. He could let himself have the guilt later. He was too tired, had been too long waiting and watching and hoping for everything that had been wrenched from his grasp. If he let it all go, even for just these moments, there was a chance he might feel at least a little more sane.

The first kiss was simple, easy and over too fast, and a tremor ran just under his skin at the feel of her cool breath on his lips. He whispered her name again, felt something in her tense. He could have met her eyes then, could have looked at her and read what she was thinking, and in all likelihood, he'd have seen the same guilt he remembered from before. But that would have stopped him, and he didn't want to be reminded why doing this would be wrong. Not now, not when it felt like he'd lose even the desperate grip he had on his sanity if he didn't.

He turned her head, tipping it just a little further into his palm as he nestled in close, his lips closing softly over her pulse, sucking lightly against soft skin. He felt the soft thrum of her pulse quicken under his tongue, her fingers coming up to trail through his hair, tugging with a pressure that was more encouraging than any kind of attempt to pull him away. He took a breath, licked his lips and brought them just a little higher, his teeth grazing against her jaw.

She'd been largely pliant in his arms, but it was then he knew her decision was made. She arched against him, her fingers tugging just a little more sharply as she brought his mouth back to hers. He could taste her properly, that time, sweet on his tongue and so different from…

No. He couldn't , couldn't even think it. He let out a noise that was closer to a growl than the hum of satisfaction it should've been, and he walked them back, stepping absently over her chain just before they bumped against the wall. He raked his fingers through her soft, short hair, encouraged her to turn just enough as his lips wandered down to hover against her ear.

"It's alright, Resa. It's alright."

He wasn't sure, but somehow, it had seemed important to tell her that, if nothing else. She shivered, the movement slight, but he felt something that seemed like the tiniest of nods, her hands wrapping around his wrists and nudging them to the ties on the back of her dress. He sighed, pressed a kiss to her hairline as he drew back, weight resting heavily on his palms against the wall behind her, framing her in.

Her eyes were dark, even more so in the light of the dying fire. There was want there, and yes, guilt, and…impatience. Well, then. Over and done with…he could manage that. He nodded, licking his lips and tasting her still on them.

"Yes. Yes, alright." Still, it didn't mean he'd be careless. He pulled her close, nimble fingers working on the ties of her dress as he mouthed lazily along her neck, working at the soft skin and lingering whenever he felt her press closer. Now, perhaps more than ever, he wondered what her voice _would_ have sounded like. The way she'd have spoken his name, the sounds she might have made at his kisses, what she might have said. There was something fascinating in not knowing, in wondering, in thinking that _just there_, soft, nipping teeth at the juncture of her shoulder and his palms spread against her back, he might have made her cry out.

Ties hanging loose, now, he pushed them down, tugging the fabric with them. His fingers brushed bare skin and he groaned, soft and low and eager, pressing in just a little tighter against her. God, it had been too long. Forever, it seemed, and she was just as eager, her face burying against his neck as she hauled him even closer, not a millimeter between them for a breath or two. He had to push back then, the urge to get the dress all the way _off_ too great to wait for long. He slid back, pushed down from her shoulders, their eyes meeting as he eased the dress down far enough to slip on its own, pooling at her feet and around the chain.

He didn't even look, not at first, too focused on the look she was giving him now. The guilt had fuzzed out, leaving something undefinably gentle, and as she reached out to him he reached for her, thumb smoothing against her cheek. She smiled, and her lips moved carefully, whisper soft if she'd been able to speak.

_Dustfinger_.

His heart lurched, jagged, and he pressed close, stepping in between her legs, one hand still cupped against her cheek as he nuzzled gently against her. He had no nothing to say and so much he _wanted_ to speak, and he made up for the discrepancy by kissing her, moaning hungrily into her mouth when she took the lead, her tongue stroking against his. He mapped her body with his hands before his eyes had even so much as glanced, his hands restless against her skin. She was cold, particularly to him and his constant warmth, and when he cupped her breasts in his palms he drew on the heat just enough to infuse some warmth into his skin.

She startled at the sudden heat, her hips jerked against him and he lightly toed her legs apart just a little farther, his right leg sliding up to press his knee against her. She gripped at him, hard, her nails digging into his back even through his shirt. His own hands held her in place, kept her there even as she rocked against him and her teeth closed on his lip with just enough pressure to sting. It was just right, everything from her touch to the ache he felt to thrust against her in return, and he broke their string of kisses to ease back enough to pull off his shirt. He tugged it over his head quick, drinking the sight of her in thirstily before he yanked his pants down just enough, reached out to lift her up off the ground. Her hands smoothed down his chest, heat in her eyes as they settled again against his back and she wrapped one leg around his waist. The other stayed just barely on the ground, the metal of her chain clinking as they shifted closer.

Their lips brushed, the slightest chaste kiss as their ragged breathing cracked the silence. He was watching her, reading her eyes as his hand eased between them, her legs spreading just a little farther to accommodate him as he slipped his fingers between her folds. She jerked at his touch, his own breath hitching in appreciation. She was so _warm_, hot and damp on his fingers, and when he found just the right spot to stroke she responded so beautifully, grinding down onto his hand as her mouth fell open in a soundless cry.

For a second he wanted nothing more than to watch her, to stroke her like this, pinned between him and the wall, his full attention on her eyes and her lips and the way her breasts pressed up against his bare chest, both their hearts racing. That, though….that would be something else, something other than what this was. Something it-_they_-couldn't be.

He hitched her up a little higher against him, used his hand to guide and pushed forward only when she kissed him, the nails of one hand digging into his shoulder. She was ready, and he took the invitation, pushing inside as slowly as he could. It wasn't as slowly as he'd have liked or even as slowly as he'd intended, but he couldn't help it. She was clinging heat, the whole feeling intensified by the way she kissed, coaxing his tongue toward hers as if to take him in farther. Farther, deeper, as close as he could get.

He moved then, not smooth but stilted, eager and hesitant all at once because everything about this was new. It was overwhelming, from the way her fingers tangled in his hair to the way the rough wall felt against his arm as he slid it behind her waist, both cushioning her and giving himself better leverage. It was over all too soon, her body stiffening and shaking in his arms all he needed to bury his face into her neck and let go himself. He gasped against her skin, bit down on his own lip against the soft cry that threatened to escape. He held on tight, still, his breath soft and warm against her neck as it slowed, her fingers trailing lazily across his skin. There was just enough pressure in her touch to hold him, just enough to show that she wasn't ready for him to pull away. It was just as well, because he wasn't sure he could have if his life depended on it. His eyes were shut and she was so close in his arms, the only sounds in the room the crackle of the fire and the sounds of their own breathing. It was its own sort of peace, transitory though it might be.

Finally, eventually, she shifted, the chain clinking and breaking the spell along with the quiet stillness. He pulled back, sliding out with a soft hiss and easing her gently all the way back onto her feet before yanking his pants back into place. She stood just a little unsteady, though when he reached out to offer a hand in balance she was already stepping back and leaning on the wall, reaching down with one hand to pull her dress up again.

It chilled him, more than it should have, and he wasn't sure why. He'd had no illusions, of course. Certainly, they _had_ been close to this before, but always with the knowledge that it couldn't be, not really. Neither of them actually wanted it, or so he'd always thought. He remained fairly certain of that now, even with the spike of despair he felt at the sudden distance between them now.

He shook his head, fighting to clear it. He was simply remembering, wishing for something he'd lost. That had to be it. He bent to the floor, snagged his shirt in one hand and pulled it over his head. His hair rumpled with the movement, falling over his eyes, and he raked it back just as haphazardly as he stood, almost ready to face her. Not that he exactly had to. She'd turned her back to him, with the open ties to her dress, and one quick half glance over her shoulder asked more of a question than she'd have needed to.

He nodded, his mouth dry, and when he stepped up behind her he pressed his palm to her bare skin first, the touch lingering. He held the moment as long as he dared, a tiny last wisp of intimacy before he drew the fraying strings together with an ease that spoke to how well practiced he'd been at the action, long ago.

She turned suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts, and before he could clear the clutter enough to decide on how best to leave she darted in, hands against his cheeks as she took a single, swift kiss. She was gone before he could even reach out to her, flitting away to pull down the oven to check the bread. Still rising.

Dustfinger let out a long breath, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back against the table. He should leave now. Really, he should. They'd never talk about this, he knew. It was common sense, really, but he might've pushed it, though he could see in her movements now that he never could. She was quick, efficient…in her own way, asking him to let it go without comment, a ripple in an otherwise mostly smooth pond. For all of that, and as much as he wanted to question her now, he _really_ should go.

He swore softly under his breath, kicked at the flag stone with the toe of his boot and watched the dust rise. He was a fool. A trapped, lonely fool, cursed to grow old and die in this damn prison of a world. Did it really matter anymore?

"So…" The word was soft, full of resignation to his own ears though he hoped she didn't hear. "How long will this take you, then?"

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End file.
